Sally's Story: Hand of Doom

	Calls for assistance only intensified as the crew approached the infernal west end. The borough had spelled the end of too many officers already, before any grand machinations by the weathermen were put into effect. And now it was on fire, scattered blazes spreading from building to building as short brick multistories were gutted by flame and opportunists picking them for loot. Crossing into the rotted, potholed avenues a shot, too close to be accidental, rocked the car. The round skidded across the hood, lodging itself just beneath the windshield as Vincent floored it, pushing the car ahead and to the curb.
	“Out, now!” The four piled out and sheltered behind the baking brick wall of an appliances store, smashed glass and muttering display televisions splayed on the ground. Scattered pops from the opposite end of the building paffed on the asphalt in front of them, a warbling siren with them.
	“Out! Hands up,” a voice screamed over the roar. “There’s a curfew in effect, now come out!” Vincent crawled up to the very edge of the brick, a glancing shot across the wall nearly taking his nose off.
	“We’re police goddammit! BCPD Vice,” he screamed. He fumbled for his badge, tossing it into the street as an offering.
	“Come out, S-L-O-W-L-Y!”
	“Let’s go,” he whispered to the line behind him. Gently, carefully, they creeped out into the street. Standing, exposed, in the smokey road they spied a pair of officers huddled behind their squad car, the opposite side and roof riddled with holes.
	“Get here you dumb bastards,” the second officer yelled. Snatching his badge up the squad huddled behind the car, squeezing in behind the engine block where they could.
	“Detective la Fontaine, Vice,” he started. “What’s the situation?”
	“Situation? There’s a war going on here,” he grumbled. “We were put out on patrol here and started taking fire from across this parking lot, what… twenty, thirty minutes ago?” His partner nodded in agreement.
	“Any change in the situation since that?”
	“Dunno, probably out of ammo by now though.”
	“Yeah, dumb bastards spent everything on chewing up the car, but not before I could get to the trunk,” the other officer laughed, proudly displaying the hefty shotgun in his hands.
	“You had contact with any other officers?”
	“No,” he shook his head. “Radio’s shot, too.” Vincent cussed quietly, weighing the situation in his mind, balancing whether or not to stay.
	“Have you seen a man matching this description,” Sally jumped in. “Middle height, brown hair, middle aged? Anything like that?”
	“What the- Oh, uh- No,” the officer sputtered, seeing the badge hanging from the nandroid’s jacket pocket. “We didn’t get a look at who was shooting at us, no.”
	“By my estimation,” the narrower veteran joined, “those were some thugs they threw out to hold the police up. Obviously don’t know their way around a gun, more an annoyance than a danger.”
	“On the dot,” the detective responded. “Can you two hold down the fort here?”
	“Sure, detective, but I don’t know what good-”
	“It’ll do plenty good. You’re a screen- those kids probably dipped back underground to fetch more ammo, but they’re not smart enough to use that to get around you.”
	“Sir?”
	“They’re gonna pop back up, unload a few hundred more rounds in your general direction, then leave. If you two can get up on the rooftops you can play whack-a-mole and have ‘em out.”
	“Understood, sir.”
	“Good man,” Vincent said. “Now- make sure to identify *before* you shoot next time, okay?” The officer nodding, Vincent waved his compatriots after him to return to the car. Digging in the trunk he parsed out the heavy firepower to Sally, who pocketed her revolver in turn. The other two hopped back in the rear, high-power rifles standing at attention between their legs, sprung fresh from the armory into arms already acquainted with them. The fire in the adjacent building was growing, billowing clouds flooding out into the air. Sally grasped the radio handset in hand as Vincent drove, slower now, peering across the low rooftops and pitted streets, eyeing with care each manhole cover or storm drain that stared back. The robot called out to the crowded airwaves for information, crackling voices responding in turn. She repeated the description repeatedly, pleading for information on the airways. Edging deeper into the west end, closer and closer to the water, the flames only grew more intense, any wintry snip dispelled in the fuming, orange-lit clouds. Panicked spits across the air called for assistance where none could be offered, the distinctive ringing of fire engines joining the hellish noise outside, accompanied too by ambulances.
	“Saw- similar- at the docks-,” one voice poured through the radio.
	“Vincent, the docks.” He nodded silently, whipping left towards the coast. The car carried them, bobbing to and fro between burning car wrecks, into the molten heart of the ebbing wave of violence seizing the city. The sprawling port, one of Beacon City’s hearts of commerce, was abandoned. The wail of sirens was louder now, concrete barricades overturned in places where cars had thoughtlessly rammed into them. Swerving through the maze of toppled concrete and gnarled car wrecks the quartet eased their way into the massive complex. Asphalt spread out to the thin, blue horizon beyond, ships anxiously avoiding the blazing docks as they bobbed in the water. The automatic pop of gunfire and whistle of ricochets filled the air. Speeding through alleyways between shipping containers Vincent slammed the brakes, everyone lurching forward as he nearly smashed into a line of concrete barricades. The barrel of a shotgun pressed against the glass.
	“Out, now!”
	“Not this again,” he thought to himself. He flashed his badge, swinging the door open angrily.
	“O-Oh! Sorry det-”
	“Save it, son,” he grunted. “Who’s in charge around here?” The young officer lowered the gun, pointing to a man shouting loudly into a handset, the blasted and bullet-cracked lights on his squad car extinguished.
	“Captain Bradford, detective.” Patting him on the shoulder he marched over to the small command station jury rigged from blasted pieces of corrugated steel and barricades. Sheltering behind a container was a curly-haired man, grizzled, relaying orders and directions to and from people in the field. Vincent stepped beside him, tapping his shoulder and flashing his badge.
	“Captain Bradford, correct?”
	“That’s me, who’re you?”
	“Detectives la Fontaine and, er, Sally, Vice. And two deputies, Atkinson and Williams.”
	“A pleasure, but what are you doing here?”
	“Well, Captain, all of this,” Vincent gestured out towards the hostile tarmac beyond, “is one of our cases.”
	“I’m sorry?”
	“Allow me to explain, Captain,” Sally interjected. The man’s eyes widened in shock looking at the pale, round face but he held his tongue. “We were investigating an overdose, a case which unfortunately expanded in scope and intensity to this point.” A flurry of bullets whizzed overhead.
	“Yeah but who the hell in their right mind is putting up this much of a fight over some fucking drugs, I mean-”
	“They’re weathermen,” the taller of the deputies said, his wide nose flaring angrily.
	“Fuckin’ hell, what is this? Sixty nine?”
	“It’s worse than that Bradford,” Vincent continued. “They’re armed, as you have likely learned, as well if not better than us.”
	“Yeah no shit,” he spat. “My issue has been digging them out of here.”
	“That’s why we came, sir,” the robot added. “The description I was reading out on the radio is who we suspect is leading this, at least in part.”
	“That ‘sighting’ was purely speculative, miss. I’ve been sending patrols out with whatever I can give ‘em to keep a perimeter clear, and one of them came back having seen him and half-dozen more of the perps.”
	“That’s all we needed to hear,” Vincent said. “Let’s move it out.”
	“Wait, wait! You don’t get it- they’re doing the same thing, I mean,” he stopped. “This part of the city’s been the most intense in the past hour. North end of the docks and into the park is the worst, taken a lot of fire from there.” It dawned on Vincent, now, the focus of the operation was around the industrial park, the heartland of Beacon City in more ways than one. Thousands were employed in it across numerous industries and businesses and, in the years previous, it had been the scene of too many union strikes. It was also home to a conspicuously wholesome little bakery.
	“That’s where we’re going, then. And if we catch our guy on the way, all the better.”
	“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” he grumbled. “Commissioner gave me command of one of the SWAT teams for that exact purpose, and I haven’t heard back in twenty minutes now.” The latest revelation fell on the four of them like a sack of bricks, sagging their intentions with the ponderous weight of imminent danger. But it was for the city, for the people, they knew. The little robot, cheeks sparked with determination, locked eyes with the police captain, his cap removed as he raked his curly hair with his hand.
	“We’ll get them back, sir. I promise you that.”
	“We’ve got a handle on this Bradford,” the other detective added, removing his service revolver from his coat jacket. The two deputies nodded in response, rifles held at their hips, ready to go. The captain smiled weakly, nodding imperceptibly as they set out on foot into the no man’s land ahead of them. Some five hundred meters of ground separated the party and hellish core of the deepening battle in Beacon City.